by Mary Burton
"I heard you," she shouted over the music. "I'm coming." She turned the music down.
Kelsey opened the door. She was wearing a thick terry cloth robe and her hair was damp as if she'd just washed it. Her face was cleanly scrubbed. He held his breath for a moment, unable to find his voice.
"Kinda late, isn't it, Sheriff?" Kelsey said. Her voice was smoky, seductive and he knew he could get lost in the sound of it.
"I have news."
She nodded, the light in her eyes dying. "I didn't think that I would hear from you so soon." She stepped back and held out her arm. "Come on in."
He was struck by two things. First, the hallway was completely clean. Not only had the papers been cleaned out, but the floor had been swept. Without the clutter, the entryway was brighter, more inviting. Second was the smell of tomatoes, basil and garlic drifting from the kitchen. He remembered then that he hadn't eaten since lunch.
"You've been busy."
"Your nephews were a big help. Thanks for sending them." She closed the door behind him.
Standing next to him in her bare feet, she barely reached his shoulder. Once she'd fit nicely in the crook of his arm. "They didn't give you any trouble, did they?"
"They were perfect gentlemen." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. A small gold hoop earring glistened from her small earlobe. "Rick told me he was on probation."
Mitch grunted. "He'll be lucky if he works off his indenture before he hits thirty."
She chuckled. "Give the kid a break. Weren't you young and stupid once?"
He didn't dare touch that one. "Look, I don't want to take up a lot of your time. I came to give you the preliminary results."
She moistened her lips. "Are you hungry?"
The question caught him off guard, but he recovered. She wasn't ready to hear what he had to say yet. "Starving."
"Come on back to the kitchen. My marinara is already and the pasta is cooked."
He followed her down the wide hallway to the kitchen. The room was large with an overhead fluorescent light that shone down on a pink and gray Formica floor. Along the north wall was an old white stove, a wide porcelain sink with a drying rack next to it, and a narrow counter. To his right was a refrigerator that had to be fifty years old.
A gray table trimmed in dull chrome and surrounded by four matching chairs was piled high with boxes of papers, as were the far corners of the kitchen.
"Smells good." He never figured her for a cook.
There were two pots on the stove—one for sauce and one with cooked pasta glistening with butter. "I learned to cook a few dishes when I was in Italy. I got tired of eating in restaurants."
She found two bowls from the cupboard, washed them and then placed a healthy serving of pasta in each. She ladled marinara on each and grated fresh cheese and pepper on top. She handed him the bowl. "Wine?"
"Water's good."
"Sure." She poured one glass of ice water and one red wine. "Let's go sit on the back porch and eat. Then we can talk. I haven't had a chance to clean this room yet and I get antsy around the clutter."
"Lead the way." He followed her outside and they both sat on the back step. The night was cool and the air clean. Suddenly, he could feel the tension draining from his back. He took a bite of pasta and, to his surprise, discovered it was good.
They ate in silence for several minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Mitch liked sitting beside her. He liked having her close. The realization nearly made him laugh. What was it about him and difficult women? After he and his ex had broken up for good, he'd sworn no more complications. And here he was. But it really wasn't fair to compare Kelsey and Alexa. Alexa was a clinger. Whether it was city life, her friends or him, she always needed someone. Kelsey had her quirks, but she could stand on her own two feet.
Kelsey set her fork down. She held the earthenware bowl in her hands, staring ahead into the dark. "The body was Donna, wasn't it?" He set his bowl down. "Yes." She shoved out a sigh. "It's not like I didn't know it anyway."
It was one thing to have a gut feeling. Another to have facts. "Right."
"How did she die?"
He hesitated. "We don't have the full report yet."
"But you have a theory." He sighed. "She was shot in the chest." She squeezed her eyes closed. "She was murdered?"
"Yes." He wanted to take her in his arms. She looked so alone and fragile at this moment. "Is there anyone I can call for you—someone you can stay with?" She straightened her shoulders. "No, I'm good."
"Kelsey, you really shouldn't be alone." She stood abruptly. "Thanks for everything." He rose immediately. "Where are you going?"
She tapped her fingertips against her thigh. "I don't know. I've just got to do something."
He laid his hands on her shoulders. "You shouldn't be alone."
She glanced up at him, her eyes now watery pools. She was struggling for control. "I've been on my own most of my life. I don't need anyone, Sheriff."
He could feel the tension in her body under his fingertips. "Let me call Stu. Maybe you can spend the night with him, he could use the company. Chris is missing."
"Missing?"
"He says Chris had taken off before but he's worried."
For an instant, her gaze shifted and he thought she'd change her mind and stay with Stu. "I'll give him a call. He's got enough on his plate. I'll get through this alone."
He wanted to pull her into his arms, hold her close and protect her from the pain. And for a moment, she looked up at him, her body leaning in toward him just a fraction, as if she wanted to be held.
His hands slid down to her arms with the idea of holding her, if only for a moment. She stiffened, but didn't pull away.
He leaned his head forward and touched his lips to hers. He'd forgotten how good she tasted, how much he'd enjoyed the feel of her body against his.
He thought she'd let him draw her into his embrace and that the kiss would deepen. He wanted that.
But she pulled away and stepped back. She dragged her hand through her hair. "I'm tired."
She'd not allow him to comfort her no matter how much he wanted to take her misery away. His heart ached for her.
"Eventually, this is something you're going to have to work through alone. But for tonight, let me take you to Stu's."
"No."
Before he could argue, she disappeared into the house. He heard her throw the lock on the door.
As he stared at the closed back door, Mitch jabbed his fingers. He wanted to pound on the door and demand that she go to Stu's. He marched up to the door, raised his fist and then hesitated. He spread his flat palm against the door and pulled in a deep breath.
What was he doing?
She was a big girl. They'd had a past, but neither owed the other anything. So why did he feel so helpless?
"Color me one big, damn fool."
It was seven o'clock in the morning when Kelsey woke. She'd spent a long, restless night in her old bed. She tossed and turned and dreamed of Donna during a time when things had been pretty good. They'd been in California and it had been her eighth birthday. There'd been no friends to share the day with, but Donna had taken Kelsey to Disneyland. The day had been magical. They'd laughed and Kelsey had eaten junk food until she'd had a bellyache. She'd climbed into bed that night still wearing her new Mickey Mouse T-shirt, believing that Donna had finally gotten her act together.
The next day, Donna was arrested for credit card fraud. She'd financed their outing with a card she'd stolen from some lady in Fresno. Donna made bail and they skipped town two days later.
Despite all her screwups Kelsey continued to believe that somehow, someday, Donna would get her act together.
Donna was dead.
Whatever doubts she'd nurtured all these years were banished by Mitch's announcement last night. Donna would never make things right between them.
She was alone.
Kelsey rubbed her temple, trying to ease the dull ache. She resisted the urge t
o pull the covers over her head and go back to sleep. She got out of bed, dressed and pulled back her hair. She did what she always did when she felt as if she could jump out of her skin. She worked.
Five hours later, she had tackled another room— the dining room. Most of the clutter had been news-papers and it had been easy to toss them. She'd stacked them on the front porch with a note for Rick and Jeff to haul them off.
Her stomach grumbled and she realized she still hadn't eaten. There were more rooms to be done, but she needed to take a break. She strode into the kitchen to the coffeemaker and made a strong pot. But as the machine hissed and steamed and she stared at the clutter in the room, she knew she had to get out of this house or she'd go nuts.
She couldn't breathe here.
Turning the pot off, she went upstairs, showered and dressed in a clean pair of jeans and a white T-shirt. After slipping on her clogs, she grabbed her keys and purse and headed to her car. She started the Jeep up and began driving. Before she knew it, she was parking in the scuba center's lot. Kelsey shut off the car and went inside.
The bells on the front door jingled as she entered. The shop had once been a pizza place years ago when Stu had purchased it. Now, new wet suits, flippers and masks hung where there'd been pictures of Italy; air tanks rested where the ovens had been; and a long glass display case stood where there'd been booths.
The place was quiet and there was no sign of people. "Stu?"
He poked his head out of the back room. The instant he saw her, he grinned, went to her and hugged her. "How you doing, Kelsey?"
He was dressed in khakis and a black collared shirt with a red scuba center logo embroidered on the right breast pocket. He'd showered and combed back his gray hair. He smelled of chlorine and aftershave, as he always had. His warm embrace nearly brought her to tears.
She walked down the narrow hallway and hugged him. "I'm good."
"You sure?"
She sniffed and smiled. "Good to go." Needing to distance herself from the emotion, she pulled back and glanced around the shop. "Any word on Chris?"
His smile faded. His worry was evident. "No."
She scrambled for words of comfort. She glanced into the display case at a handful of the latest dive computers. "Any idea where Chris could be?"
He sighed. "I wish I knew. The police found his car, but there is no sign of him."
She frowned. "You know how he can just stop what he's doing and take off." He'd written about Chris's excursions often in his letters.
"The only place he went was Atlantic City. But his car was found on the southbound side of 81."
"He should have been on the north side."
"Exactly."
"How long has it been?"
"He left town two days ago. They found the car yesterday."
Kelsey knew how lame words of comfort could sound. And still she heard herself saying, "Hang in there. He's tough. I bet he turns up soon."
The front bells of the shop rang. Stu winked at her. "Be right back."
His gait was still stiff as he moved down the hallway to the front of the store. She'd remembered what Mitch had said about the motorist who'd nearly run him over. A chill snaked down her spine. It would have broken her heart to lose Stu.
Kelsey could hear a woman's voice up front but couldn't place it. She walked to the front of the hallway to glanced out into the store.
The woman who stood looking down at the display case was dressed for tennis, but everything about her spoke of money—her French manicured fingers, diamond bracelet, crisp white Polo shirt and pleated white tennis skirt. Her black hair was cut short, the edges spiked in a fashionable style.
Mrs. Boyd Randall. Sylvia. Kelsey had never met the woman, but knew instantly who she was. She'd seen her picture in the local paper enough times when she lived in Grant's Forge.
Stu greeted Mrs. Randall.
She grinned. "Boyd's birthday is coming up and I wanted to get him something special. He's planning a dive trip to Cancun in September and I thought it would be nice if I could update some of his equipment. I spoke to Chris about this last week and he was going to order a couple of wristwatch computers for me to look at."
Stu nodded. "He did. They arrived yesterday."
"Is Chris here?" she said. "Since I started the process with him, it makes sense to finish it with him."
Stu opened the case and lined the three compact dive computers on the glass top. "Chris is in Richmond visiting his family now."
Mrs. Randall looked disappointed. "Which one of these do you recommend?"
Kelsey stayed back, pretending to study a pair of split fins hanging on the wall. Stu launched into a discussion about the pros and cons of each computer.
"Have you used any of them?" Mrs. Randall asked.
Stu shook his head. "Nope, I haven't used any of them. I have a tendency to stick with what I know."
"That's what I like about Chris. He always tries out the latest equipment." Mrs. Randall's voice was soft, but there was no missing the irritation.
Stu glanced toward Kelsey. "I bet I know someone who has used these computers. Hey, Kelsey, would you come over here for a moment?"
Damn. After her run-in with Boyd, she wasn't interested in chatting with Mrs. Randall. Kelsey let loose of the fins and walked over to the display case. She smiled at Mrs. Randall.
"Mrs. Randall, this is Kelsey Warren. She used to work in the shop and she's been diving all around the world for the last eight years. If anybody is up on the latest equipment, she is."
The woman's smile didn't falter, but for a moment, Kelsey felt a chill. The woman's gaze slid up and down Kelsey, taking in her attire and stance. She sensed she fell short in Sylvia Randall's eyes.
The moment of scrutiny passed as quickly as it came, and Sylvia recovered quickly. The perfect politician's wife, she extended her manicured hand to Kelsey.
Kelsey took Mrs. Randall's cold hand. "Hi."
"It's nice to meet you," the older woman said smoothly. "So you are the scuba expert?"
"I don't know if I'm an expert but I've dived a lot these last few years." She glanced at the three computers lying on the table. She picked up the first—a wristwatch-shaped computer. "You can't go wrong with any of these, but I prefer this one. It's pricey, but it is compact. It does well at all depths and because it's lightweight, it doesn't get in the way."
Sylvia accepted the wristwatch computer and held it in her small hands. She handed it to Stu without glancing at the one-thousand-dollar price tag. "Wrap it up."
Stu grinned. "Will do."
Sylvia dug out her credit card and set it on the case. Kelsey started to ease away, feeling her duty was done.
"Thanks for the help, Kelsey," Sylvia said, as if she wasn't ready to let her slip away. "I don't know the first thing about diving, but my husband loves it."
Kelsey remembered Boyd when he'd first showed an interest in diving. He visited the dive shop while she was in school, but Stu had told her that Boyd had spent hours in the pool learning all he could about the sport. "I'm sure he'll love the computer, Mrs. Randall."
"I hope so. And please call me Sylvia."
Kelsey felt as if she should say or do something but she didn't know what. She smiled and nodded.
"You know, you look a lot like your mother," Sylvia said.
The comment caught her off guard. Not because she hadn't heard it enough, but because it seemed odd that a woman like Sylvia Randall would even know Donna. She found herself hungry for any information about her mother. "You knew my mother?"
"You sound surprised."
"It's just that you two lived pretty different lives."
Sylvia's eyes warmed. "Grant's Forge is a small town. Everyone crosses everyone's path eventually."
Their paths had never crossed until now. "Did you two go to school together?"
The questions seemed to flatter Sylvia. "Oh no, I must be a good ten or twelve years older than your mother. No, I just saw her around town."
"Oh." And? Kelsey waited for the other shoe to drop. Everyone had a Donna Warren story.
"I believe she worked as a waitress at the University Club when she was in high school. She was quite stunning in those days." She smiled. "Just as you are now."
"Thanks." The information explained Boyd's reaction at the diner to her crack about him knowing Donna. Rich and unavailable had been Donna's type when she was younger. As she'd aged, she'd become less choosy.
"So you've been traveling the world? How very interesting."
"I've enjoyed it." There was some kind of undercurrent, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
"And where have you been?"
"Fiji, Italy, Hawaii. I hope to go to Africa this winter."
"I adore Africa. Boyd and I went on a camera safari several years ago. He wasn't so fond of the heat, but I loved the desert. Breathtaking sunsets."
"Just need your John Hancock here," Stu said, interrupting them.
Sylvia turned, signed the receipt, tore off her copy and carefully replaced both her card and folded paper in her Hermes wallet. Her movements were so precise, as if she never wasted a bit of energy.
Kelsey imagined the woman made few mistakes or did anything without thinking it through. She edged back a step, grateful not to have Sylvia's penetrating gaze studying her.
Sylvia took the package. "Well, thank you again, Stu. And Kelsey, it was a real pleasure meeting you. Are you staying in town long?"
"A few weeks, maybe a month."
Sylvia smiled again. "Well, I hope you enjoy our fair town. You certainly have chosen the best time of year to visit us."
"Thanks."
Sylvia nodded and left.
Kelsey watched Sylvia climb into her Lexus V8. Only when the woman pulled out into traffic did she turn to Stu. "That was too easy."
"What do you mean?"
"She knew Donna, and she didn't have anything bad to say."
"Not everyone hated Donna."
Her gut said otherwise. "Sylvia Randall did."
Chapter 8
"I didn't hate Donna," Stu said softly.
